Basements, Revolvers and Slings
by FrankAndGerardOMG
Summary: It's a race against time for the remaining three members of My Chemical Romance. Mikey is missing and none of them have any idea where he could be. Then Ray disappears and it all goes to hell for Gerard and Frank. Continuing on from my other fic: Alcohol, Coffee and Sequins. I obviously don't own the characters! No Rikey, mainly friendship and centers more on Frerard friendship.
1. Chapter 1

**Continuing on from my other fic: Alcohol, Coffee and Sequins. I obviously don't own the characters! No Rikey, mainly friendship and centers more on Frerard friendship. This will also be a less comical / funny fic (as it revolves around a darker subject than Frank stealing Ray's alcoholic drinks). Contains one / two profanities - and also contains a band member death and brutal killings of some random people, so do NOT read this thinking it'll be as light-hearted as its prequel. Other than that, enjoy!**

Chapter 1

"If this is an idea of a prank by either Mikey or a crazed fangirl then it's an incredibly sick joke," Frank growled. As the prankster, it had to be pretty serious if he disagreed completely with a joke.

Ray gave a grunt in reply, too busy checking everywhere Mikey could be. Turning, Frank felt a pang as he saw Gerard. The red headed vocalist was simply standing, not knowing what to do, blankly staring at Ray's fruitless searching. He was pale and looked worried. Sure, Mikey was an adult and was responsible, but he wouldn't just wander off the tour bus and not come back after over a hour without telling them. He still counted as Gerard's younger brother - therefore, Gerard had permission to worry.

Ray turned. The only places left to search were the refrigerator and Mikey's bunk. A quick glance had confirmed he wasn't asleep and there was no way he could've fit in the refrigerator. Also, Frank and Gerard would have seen if he had come in and climbed into it.

Gerard swore for the fifth time, his voice strained. He would have been pulling out handfuls of his hair if he could've. He turned and stared at Frank, eyes wide and scared. But then shook his head and seemed to take a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes again they were full of determination and steel.

"Time to widen the search," he told them, stepping off the tour bus. Frank looked at Ray after a short pause.

"That was a lot less dramatic than I expected," he admitted, in a weak shot at a quip. Ray forced a smile before the two followed their frontman. Gerard turned and fixed them with a cool stare.

"We'll check around the entire thing," he ordered, motioning at the tour bus. They split up and searched the whole area. No luck.

"Nothing," Frank called when he saw Gerard again. They looked around, and Gerard felt as if something cold had skittered down his spine. He looked slowly at Frank and bit his lip.

"Where's Ray?" he asked.

MEANWHILE

Mikey opened his eyes. His head hurt, aching like it was in a clamp. He pressed hand against his blond hair and hissed with pain as pain shot through his head. Bringing his hand away, a glistening liquid coated his fingertips. Even in the dim light he could see it was a startlingly red color.

Wait, light?

Looking up, Mikey could see a boarded up opening, a trapdoor in the ceiling. A small gap allowed a single chink of light through, which was casting the whole area in a gloomy gray. The walls of the basement-like place weren't visible, the light having receded back to black shadows.

Mikey watched dust floating slowly down, illuminated by the diluted ray of light, before slowly standing. He turned a small circle, his eyes searching for anything he could use to reach the trapdoor. A crate was stood against the far wall to his left and his heart jumped with hope. He shoved the crate until it reached the space underneath the trapdoor. He stood on it and pushed.

Nothing happened. He heard the rattle of a chain and the dull scrape of a padlock on thick wood. It was locked. He knew it was too good to be true.

Getting off the crate and back onto the floor, Mikey studied where he had been on the floor. Nothing, except for a few scuff marks and a small smear of dried blood.

Suddenly, he began to inexplicably get a feeling of being very trapped. The ceiling was high, higher than he could reach, and the walls were in a square, each one being about seven meters in length. So, a perimeter of twenty-eight meters. Not exactly small for someone with claustrophobia - yet it was still confined - and it wasn't large enough to affect his agoraphobia - but Mikey knew, from the cold sweat and lump in his throat, that he was well and truly not in the tour bus anymore.

He screwed up his eyes, trying to remember what had happened. He had heard an odd sound and left the room, leaving Ray behind, to go investigate, assuming nothing. He had passed his brother, who was being sat on by Frank. Then … nothing. It was a blank when he had glanced out of the tour bus doors.

His hand went absently to the injury on his head. Probing it with his fingers and ignoring the stabs of pain, Mikey managed to deduce that it was a narrow cut, probably with a bruise around it. Maybe he had been knocked out. It would explain the memory loss and head injury.

He sat on the crate and sighed. It was going to be a long night.

LATER

When Mikey awoke he noticed two things. One: it was dark, so it must be nighttime now.

Two: there was someone watching him. His head snapped up and the trapdoor was open. Somebody was looking down, eyes glittering with malice. Mikey jumped to his feet and waved.

"I'm down here!" he cried in desperation. The person blinked lazily and shook their head, closing the hatch. Mikey fought back the urge to shout for them to come back. He knew it wouldn't work anyway. He returned to the corner he had been in before.

The side of his head itched. Raising a hand, he felt crusted blood matting his hair. At least the cut had stopped bleeding. His head still throbbed.

Mikey felt in his clothing and heaved a sigh. As he had suspected, they were as empty as this room itself. With the exception of a crate in his pockets.

The dark didn't let up. His eyes would usually adjust but it was simply too dark to actually see in this basement. Mikey jumped at a scratching sound to his left, along the wall. A softer one came, closer than before. He shifted uncomfortably away but it came again, and something brushed his arm.

Mikey lashed out with an arm and his foot connected with something solid. There came a muffled thud and a winded 'ow!' which sounded oddly familiar. Mikey squinted but it made no difference.

"Ray?" he whispered.

"Yo," the afro'd guitarist replied, sounded pained. He had just been kicked in the stomach, though. He added, "where are we?"

"Basement," Mikey shrugged, nervously tucking his knees underneath his chin. He heard Ray move against the wall.

"All I remember is searching around the bus for you," he admitted. "I heard someone walk up and thought it was Frank. I turned and got whacked by a crowbar!"

Mikey felt sick. Now Gerard and Frank were on their own and had no idea where he and Ray were. And neither did they, for that matter. It was somehow getting even darker and he huddled into the corner further.

Neither Ray nor unicorns could make him feel better now.

MEANWHILE

Frank stared off into the shadows of the bus. He and Gerard - minus Ray now - had eventually got back onto the vehicle after hours of searching everywhere; they were now keeping an eye out to make sure they were both here and didn't magically teleport away when the other wasn't looking.

Frank was dealing with it by drinking more beer, making a mental note to buy Ray a whole six-pack when (he tried not to think 'if') he returned. Gerard was drinking more coffee to stay awake, sitting at the table. He was slumped over and looked dejected. Frank slid into the stool opposite and regarded the bleary-eyed redhead, who was struggling to get over the situation. Frank, who himself was finding it hard to not to freak, knew that if he lost his mind Gerard would crumble too.

Gerard sighed heavily and began to pour another cup of coffee for himself. Steam rushed out and dampened his red-dyed hair but he didn't seem to register it at all.

Frank rested his chin on his tattooed forearms and watched as Gerard took a gulp of the boiling coffee. If it scalded his tongue he didn't react. He didn't even seem to notice when Frank stood up and left the table.

"Don't go anywhere," he said. Gerard shrugged dispiritedly.

Frank glanced out of the window. It was dark and they had no idea where Mikey and Ray were. He hoped they were somewhere lit and sheltered, like a hotel or house.

Suddenly, he heard a loud thud from where Gerard was. Frank bolted up and sprinted as quick as he could back, readying himself to fight off whoever it was. He was met with the sight of Gerard on the floor, his chair fallen over. He was grimacing.

"What happened?" Frank cried.

"Fell off the stupid chair," answered Gerard with a groan. The vocalist went limp and just lay on the floor, too disheartened to do anything.

"Well, we can inform the cops tomorrow," Frank told him, "so they can help. If people are gone for twenty-four hours then they're officially missing, right?"

Gerard shrugged as he had done before. Frank inhaled and exhaled patiently; he knew Gerard wasn't being intentionally useless. His thoughts were probably just too cluttered with possible worst scenarios about his brother.

"We need to get some sleep," Frank murmured. He crouched down and patted Gerard's shoulder. Eyes flitted up to him but still the redhead refused to move. Frank sighed again. "I know you've had coffee but you need to sleep!"

"Fine," Gerard mumbled. He stood slowly and ambled silently after Frank, obediently flopping onto his own bunk and remaining quiet. Frank followed suit but found he was wide awake. The absence of steady breathing from Gerard marked that he wasn't the only one unable to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Gerard sat bolt upright. He had heard a loud smashing sound and it had made him think of one word: Frank.

He climbed so quickly from his bunk that he got tangled up in the sheets and began to fall out. He reflexively stuck out his arm and landed awkwardly, with the back of his right hand and knuckles flat against the floor and his palm facing himself.

Gerard barely had time to register how unnatural the angle was before searing pain shot through his arm. A loud crack followed and his more pain than he'd ever felt before took hold of him. He rolled onto his back and clutched at his wrist. He felt an abnormal lump from underneath his skin and swore. He remembered how bones broke. If it was a compound fracture then the bone poked up from under the skin.

He saw Frank come rushing in, holding pieces of a broken glass. Good, he was safe, he hadn't been kidnapped-

Frank squatted down and saw Gerard's eyes were screwed shut. His teeth were gritted together and he was holding onto his wrist tightly, breathing shallowly, beads of sweat on his forehead.

Frank carefully removed Gerard's fingers and every expletive he knew went through his mind. The wrist was at an angle that was definitely not ordinary. He presumed that a broken wrist was responsible for it.

"Is it broken?" Gerard moaned, the volume of his speech fluctuating from quiet to barely audible. Frank swallowed.

"Yes, it is. How did you do this?"

"Fell," came the pained reply. Frank reached for his phone to diall 911. It wasn't there. Whoever had taken Ray and Mikey had also taken away their chances to call the police or paramedics.

Frank hurried over and tested the tour bus doors. They were jammed, like something heavy was pushed against them from outside. Somehow, it seemed less like an elaborate prank and more like a twisted setup. He swore and returned to Gerard.

"It's tingling," Gerard breathed. He was pale and sweating.

Frank noticed some dark bruises forming around the broken wrist, like a grim purple-gray bracelet.

"I'm going to do some tests," he told Gerard. A stiff nod. He squeezed the forefinger of the hand attached to the broken wrist.

"What finger was that?" he asked. Gerard looked at him with a confused expression.

"What finger was what?" he replied flatly. Frank felt as if he had been doused in icy water. He swallowed again. He let go and asked Gerard to wiggle his fingers. They didn't move.

"Okay," Frank said shakily, "now I'm going to try and splint your arm."

He collected a towel and folder it into a large triangular sling shape, before getting Gerard into a sitting position. He tucked one corner behind the Gerard's neck and the rest underneath the broken wrist, bending the arm so it rested against his chest. The rest got folder up so both corners met behind Gerard's neck and his arm was supported in the makeshift sling.

"Thanks," Gerard mumbled, not really paying attention. He seemed dazed by it all. Maybe coffee would help.

When Frank returned with the cup, it was gratefully accepted. He watched as Gerard drank, making sure he wasn't about to fall off his chair again and spill boiling coffee everywhere.

"Um," Frank started. Gerard, having finished the coffee, looked up expectantly. He frowned.

"Bad news?" he asked. Frank nodded dumbly.

"We're trapped," he blurted. "The doors are jammed and whoever it is has stolen our phones."

Gerard looked thoughtful, and said, "That's too far for a joke for any of us to pull. This is serious."

Frank agreed.

"Time to bust out the windows," Gerard said, with a dark and slightly deranged smile. Frank found he liked that smile.

MEANWHILE

Mikey opened his eyes and rubbed the sleep from them. Ray was leaning against the wall by him, still asleep. Weak morning sunlight was shining through the trapdoor gap. The absence of birdsong told him they were somewhere remote, maybe in an abandoned building.

Ray stretched with a groan and sat up, glancing at Mikey. He paused and looked closer.

"Ouch," he commented, gesturing at the dried blood on Mikey's temple. Mikey didn't reply. He was looking at the trapdoor before standing and clambering onto the crate in the space of a few seconds. Ray followed, bemused.

"What is it? Look, dude, it's probably-"

Mikey pushed the hatch open. Ray gaped and forgot what he was saying. The bassist glanced back with a rare smile.

"It wasn't closed properly. Let's go," he exclaimed. Ray gave him and boost up and Mikey was just reaching down to pull him up when a cold metal muzzle pressed against the back of his neck. His skin crawled as he heard the click of the hammer being pulled.

"Beauties, aren't they?" came an unfamiliar voice from behind him. The handgun restricted Mikey from turning to see. The person continued. "What was the line again? Ah, yes, I recall it now: 'grab your six-gun from your back.' A nice dose of irony, don't you think? Your brother probably never imagined you'd ever have one against the back of your head."

"Mikey? What's wrong?" called Ray. Mikey froze. He couldn't pull him up, not with this crazed gunman here.

"He's a little preoccupied," the stranger called. There was a brief pause followed by a stream of insults. The man - the voice was decidedly masculine - chuckled.

Mikey saw the flash of metal as the gun was stretched round him and placed against his chest. Saw a cold smile just before the trigger was pulled, and he tried to-

Bang

Unknowing to what was going on, Frank looked at his scratched arms. He had broken the glass by diving at it headfirst like an total idiot. Gerard had gone second, which meant he had gotten less scratched. After all, Frank had smashed through, dislodging most of the glass. A deep cut went across the bridge of his nose where he had connected with the window.

Gerard tried to flex the fingers on his right hand without thinking. He flinched and glared at his broken wrist. He shook his red hair from his face. They looked around at the seemingly deserted area. The complete lack of people was disturbing.

"Where do you think they- SHIT!"

Frank started. Gerard had walked around the back of the bus, questioning, had shouted a swear word and leapt backwards, landing hard on the floor on his backside. Frank almost laughed until he saw what Gerard had freaked at.

A body. A person, who was probably just a normal civilian, with a bullet hole through her head. Blood was spread in a pool around her. Frank stepped back, shocked into silence.

Gerard scrambled back to his feet, swearing. He began to say something but he stopped as a gunshot fired through the air, like the crack of a whip.

"There!" Frank gasped. A man was exiting a building, holding a revolver and reloading the chambers. An anguished cry came from it, which sounded oddly familiar-

Frank and Gerard stared at each other before the guitarist nodded. They ran as fast as they could and were met with the sight of an empty building, with a hatch in the floor.

"Hello?" Frank called warily. A voice came from down underneath them.

"We're down here!" The voice paused as he swallowed. "Oh my god, come quickly!"

Frank landed on top of a crate while Gerard stayed up top to look out for the gunman. What Frank saw horrified him.

Ray, sat against a wall, holding onto Mikey. There was blood everywhere.

"Oh, shit," Frank breathed. He looked up at Gerard. "You don't want to see this."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Mikey's eyelids were half open. His breathing was shallow and irregular, his chest rising and falling rapidly, like an injured person from films. Except this wasn't a movie. Mikey was dying right there, on the floor, with a bullet in his chest. He was beginning to hyperventilate.

Frank's hands got covered in slippery red as he applied pressure to the wound. Mikey moaned for him to stop. Gerard heard this.

"What's happened, Frank?" he demanded frantically. "You have to tell me, what's wrong with Mikey?"

Frank couldn't speak; his throat had closed up as he watched Mikey slipping away right before his eyes. The bassist's eyes were terrified as he feverishly tried to push himself away, smearing red handprints all over Frank's arms and face.

"A family reunion," came a different voice. "How touching."

Gerard cried out. Ray's head snapped up to fix on the trapdoor. He hesitated before moving forwards, just in time to catch Gerard awkwardly as he tumbled through the hatch. A cruel laugh came from above as the trapdoor was slammed closed, throwing the whole basement into pitch black except for a bit of dim light on Ray and Gerard.

Ragged, uneven breaths filled the silence as Mikey convulsed in his death throes. Frank could only watch, speechless.

"Mikey? Where are you?" Gerard's voice shook and he reached out with his good arm. "Talk to me, Mikey."

"Gee?" Frank began. He moved into the light and Gerard recoiled at the sheer amount of glistening red smears all over the guitarist's arms, hands, clothes and face.

"Where's Mikey?" he repeated, the volume and pitch of his voice rising rapidly with growing fear. He stood up and pushed Frank's arms aside, refusing to be stopped. He saw the twitching hand, heard Mikey fighting for breath, and froze. Fell to his knees.

"No …" he whimpered. A shaking hand covered his mouth and Gerard crawled over, pulling his brother over. "No! He can't be fucking dying, I know Mikey, he's gonna wake up in a minute and be fine … Wake up, wake up, please …"

Mikey tried to speak but choked instead, blood bubbling up at the corners of his mouth. He gave one of his rare smiles and reached up to pat Gerard's shoulder reassuringly. Then his chest suddenly faltered, his labored breaths trailing off and ceasing. His eyes were still open, once full of fear of dying but now glassy and unseeing. His last smile faded as his lips parted, his breath having stopped.

Mikey's death and Gerard's anguish burnt a hole through Frank's heart. He could hear Gerard, pleading his brother to wake up and willing him to live even though it was clear that Mikey would never return to the world of the living.

"Is he …?" Ray couldn't say it. Frank nodded and Ray swore, closing his eyes. They could both hear Gerard's voice become thick with desperation as he almost screamed for Mikey to wake up, to smile again, to be his brother again. His voice cracked and Gerard lapsed into dry sobs, cradling Mikey's lolling head close to himself. The blood now covered them both.

"Oh, god, Mikey, don't do this to me!" he begged, distraught.

Frank felt his own eyes prickle and quickly wiped them on his sleeve, willing himself to not crumble. Ray was taking deep breaths, blocking his ears to everything.

Mikey's limp hand slipped off Gerard's shoulder. Gerard took the cold, flaccid hand in his, as if this would bring his brother back. Frank swallowed but the lump in his throat remained. He turned away under the pretence of scrutinising the trapdoor.

"Is it locked?" Ray wondered aloud, voicing Frank's own thoughts. They both stood on the crate. This allowed a brief moment for them both to smile weakly when it was revealed Frank was too short to reach. Ray rattled the wood hopefully before exhaling with relief as it opened. Frank craned his head up. His smile faded and his eyes widened with alarm, causing their brief moment of elation to melt away within seconds.

"Get back!" he cried, hurrying to get down. "Get off-"

A gunshot made them temporarily deaf and it was in slow motion for Ray - a trigger being pulled, expelling the bullet; Frank, falling backwards with a bullet hole, trailing a rippling red stream, in his shoulder; and the trapdoor closing, making the basement dark once more.

Ray heard Frank's strangled breaths, and began to search in the darkness for his injured friend. The only sound was the fuzzy ringing in his ears, followed by his heart thumping and the painful sound of Frank struggling to draw oxygen.

"It's okay, try to breathe," Gerard was saying. Ray looked where the voice had come from. Gerard had taken Mikey's body up to the crate to keep it close but was at least concentrating on Frank. Ray, noticing Gerard had a sling on, decided to help. He supported Frank's head with one hand, holding him down with the other. Gerard kneeled by them and glanced at Frank's face, which was clammy and pale. The guitarist's eyes flickered open and focused on him.

"Please don't," he groaned, seeing what Gerard was going to do. Gerard sighed.

"I'm sorry," he apologised before moving his left, uninjured arm and pressing his palm hard against the gunshot wound. Frank grimaced, fighting the pain as Gerard's hand became covered in blood other than Mikey's. Frank's hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat and his eyes were tightly shut as he tried to fend off the agony and shock of being shot.

Gerard finally unstuck his hand. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. Ray stood, shaking out his numb legs. Frank was propped up against the crate on the side opposite where Mikey was. Gerard's eyes threatened to water as he saw his brother's body again; the stress of caring for Frank had made him forget, and he still couldn't get over the fact that Mikey was completely gone. No more would he hear Mikey going on about Popsicles, fangirling over unicorns and speculating how he could probably eat his body weight in sushi.

The band was over. It wouldn't be the same without Mikey, and even if they recruited a new bassist the idea of replacing his brother and simply carrying on the songs wasn't going to happen. Fans would want to know what had happened. The authorities would get involved about the murder and shooting of Frank and God knew what would happen after that. Maybe they would just break under the pressure. Maybe he would just go mad with grief.

Frank said something incoherent and Gerard leant down to hear him, but before Frank could repeat it Ray had interrupted.

"Can you hear that?" he asked. Gerard cocked his head, straining his ears. Now he could hear it- above his pounding heart and Frank's harsh breaths. A high-pitched beeping. Gerard turned and saw a small flashing red light. He squinted. They were numbers, counting down. It was currently changing from two minutes to one minute and fifty nine seconds.

"No!" he cried, grabbing the small machine and lifting it to eye height. A small note was pinned to it with some tape.

"'Ill be your detonator,'" Ray read over Gerard's shoulder. He frowned. "That's from Na Na Na, isn't it?"

"It's a bomb," Gerard choked out. Ray stared. The timer was now at forty-three seconds and still counting down. Ray took it and pushed it behind the crate. He next crouched by Frank, who was breathing shallowly. Gerard returned to Mikey's body and held onto it. They braced themselves as the agonising seconds counted down to their impending destruction.

"Hey, Gee?" Frank asked, his eyes opening slightly. Gerard looked over, and saw Frank grin for what was probably the last time. Frank saluted him. "See you around, yeah?"

Gerard was distracted by the bomb's beeping. It told him there were three seconds left. He looked back at Frank and Ray with a slight smile.

He didn't have time to reply.


End file.
